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THE SOUTH GEORGIAN LARK.
Man should thy pupil be. Draw near, thou of the lordly mind,
Whose will the unmeasured universe in links of thought can bind;
Yet still beneath a transient woe, ingloriously dost droop,
Or shuddering at the frown of fate, on sky-borne pinion stoop:
What though Misfortune's shaft severe thy lingering hope destroys,
Till only some pale frost-flower stands to mark thy smitten joys;
What though Affliction's keenest dart thy inmost soul hath stoned,
Still heavenward lift the lay of praise, like the lone Georgian bird.
